Deep in thought he paced slowly up and down the wharf, and then wandered listlessly round the piled-up empties and bags of sugar in the open floor beneath the warehouse. A glance through the windows of the office showed him the watchman slumbering peacefully by the light of a solitary gas-jet, and he went back to the schooner and gazed at the dark water and the dim shapes of the neighbouring craft in a vein of gentle melancholy. He walked to the place where her chair had been, and tried to conjure up the scene again; then, becoming uncertain as to the exact spot, went down to the cabin, where, the locker being immovable, no such difficulty presented itself. He gazed his fill, and then, smoking a meditative pipe, turned in and fell fast asleep.
He was awakened suddenly from a dream of rescuing a small shark surrounded by a horde of hungry Poppies, by the hurried and dramatic entrance of Captain Fred Flower. The captain’s eyes were wild and his face harassed, and he unlocked the door of his state-room and stood with the handle of it in his hand before he paused to answer the question in the mate’s sleepy eyes.
“It’s all right, Jack,” he said, breathlessly.
“I’m glad of that,” said the mate, calmly.
“I hurried a bit,” said the skipper.
“Anxious to see me again, I suppose,” said the mate; “what are you listening for?”
“Thought I heard somebody in the water as I came aboard,” said Flower glibly.
“What have you been up to?” enquired the other, quickly.
Captain Flower turned and regarded him with a look of offended dignity.
“Good heavens! don’t look like that,” said the mate, misreading it. “You haven’t chucked anybody overboard, have you?”